


It's staring at you.

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Horror, POV First Person, Psychological Horror, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24280180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Just a little ooky spook I whipped up in the ungodly hours. Enjoy.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	It's staring at you.

_It’s staring at you._

You’re outside. The moon is sitting in the sky, but everything else around you is pitch black, making your backyard look like a black hole. You came outside to inspect after hearing suspicious rustles. The rest of your family is out of town, so you had to fend for yourself. Maybe an intruder, an animal. It annoyed you too much that you couldn’t stay inside forever. 

_It’s staring at you._

You’ve got a torch clutched in one hand, but you’re holding it so tightly that your palm is condensating on it, shaking. You can’t admit to yourself that you’re scared. The torch wasn’t on. Just in your grip, like you were holding onto it to save your own life.

_Stood still._

The grass rustled in the wind. Something made your heart race. You still don’t have the courage to press the button on the torch, even if you swore on your life that someone - or some _thing_ \- was keeping you company.

_Stood still._

Your backyard was mainly grass, you knew that. Trees and bushes surrounded it all, but what set you off the most was the fact that beyond the trees was a broken section of fencing, and you couldn’t afford to patch it up. It wouldn’t be too terrifying if some animal was out there. But you were still scared. Scared of the unknown, of what could be there when you didn’t know it. You were a sitting duck.

_Get out of there._

Now you had the courage to turn on your flashlight. Your hand was shivering like a leaf - not because of the cold wind. You didn’t know why.

_Get out of there._

You used it to scan your surroundings. Nothing stood out to you. 

_Run._

A spider was hanging from the clothesline. Nothing spectacular, it’s just a spider.

_Run._

That’s when you turned around. You felt your heart stop for a second, and when you tried to move, you couldn’t. There was a figure in front of the trees.

It’s a... man. It resembles a man, anyway. His face is deadpan. No hair. He’s as pale as a sheet of paper in your light, his fingers are long and spindly, and he’s stood upright and still like a statue. He’s got on strangely formal attire for someone who’s just showed up in your backyard. He’s silent. Waiting. You could barely make out his sunken-in eyes from where you were standing. 

Every inch of your skin had chills running over them.

You opened your mouth to scream. Nothing came out. 

You’re still frozen.

_Coming to get you._

Then the man started speedwalking towards you, his arms still at his sides. You wanted to vomit. Instead of puking, you managed to sprint to the back door of your house, but _Christ_ , your legs had never taken you so quickly before. Luckily you left the door open, but the man was still following you. You rushed in and slammed the door, locking it. 

Now he was right at the door. Staring through the glass panel. You made eye contact with him - you wished you hadn’t. His eyes were wide, dead, pupils tiny and intimidating. Lips were in a straight line. You felt an even stronger urge to vomit because he wouldn’t stop staring at you. 

Then he put a hand on the window. A large, pale hand. He slowly clenched it into a fist - You caught a glimpse of his fingernails. Rough and ready at the ends, long, unkempt. Dirty. Now you had to get away before you spilled your stomach onto the doormat.

You ran straight for your bedroom. The windows and blinds were already shut, since it was late out and you weren’t an idiot. You slammed the door shut, scrambled to lock your window and closed the curtains. The loudest noise in the room was your own heartbeat. 

You climbed onto your bed, desperately covering yourself. You were missing the sensation of being dead tired like before, barely able to keep your eyes open. Now you’re alert, almost screaming at every tiny noise. You flicked off the torch, still kept in your hands, clutched close to your chest. 

Even breathing seemed too risky. It was dead silent.

You’re more paranoid than ever.

_Visitor._

You rolled over on your side. You couldn’t stop shaking. Perspiration leaking through your clothes was the least of your worries.

_Visitor._

Three slow, heavy knocks pounded at _your window_. Now it seemed too terrifying to be real, but even pinching your arm as hard as possible couldn’t get you out of this. You knew your window was shut. Locked. Curtains closed. How the man found exactly your bedroom window was something you didn’t want to know.

You couldn’t breathe. Not even as a choice. 

Your bed creaking posed too great of a risk, even if he was outside.

_Not the end._

He didn’t knock again, but you were not about to get up and open the curtains. You didn’t know how dangerous he was.

You heard the grass outside your window rustle, getting quieter. He was walking away. You were still not about to check on him.

Now you could (somewhat) comfortably roll over to face the other side. The torch wasn’t too comfortable to hold like that, but it was all you had to fight with. Minutes felt like hours when you were laying like that. Wide awake. 

Then you heard the knocks again. Your gut dropped.

They were coming from your _bedroom door._

**Author's Note:**

> no ragrets


End file.
